


The Water of Life Affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are tasked with preventing THRUSH from getting hold of a very rare and valuable liquor.





	The Water of Life Affair

 

  
                    

 

“Gentlemen, this is your new assignment,” Alexander Waverly said as he tossed a pair of folders on his conference table, sending them round to Solo and Kuryakin.

“Grand Marnier?” Napoleon was puzzled.

"Not just any Grand Marnier,” Waverly smiled, “these are extremely rare and valuable to connoisseurs of liquor. They are a special cuvee bottled by Marnier-Lapostelle from around 1925, based on pre-phylloxera cognac from 1830, were originally in the collection of Professor Franz Loewe, a known aficionado of vintage labels, as well being as a gifted chemist. The professor died under mysterious circumstances and as part of his estate, these bottles are being auctioned off within the next two days

“I understand they are valuable, but for what purpose is UNCLE needed...” Illya looked up, his glasses slipping down his nose.

There was a twinkle in Waverly’s eyes, “You see Mr. Kuryakin it is not the liqueur itself, but what is of interest to us is something Professor Loewe purportedly injected into it, and that is a formula to extend life.”  He smiled, “I suppose that makes these bottles of Grand Marnier a true aqua vitae, as it were.”

“Ah yes, the water of life, to which most distilled liquors are now referred. Whisky from the Irish uisce beatha, eau de vie,in France, aqua vite in Italy, akvavitin Scandinavia, okowita in Poland, okovyta in Ukraine, akavitain Belarus, yakovita in the southern Russian dialects...”, 

“Yes quite, Mr. Kuryakin you’ve made your point,” Waverly interrupted him.

“Gentlemen, you’re to go to Vienna and obtain these bottles at any cost.”

“Are we bidding on them?” Napoleon asked, not sure if ‘at any cost’ meant just that.

“Yes precisely, but try not to drive up the price Mr. Solo, no need to impress anyone.  Your cover will be a wealthy American dealer in vintage liquors.” Waverly tossed him his identity papers along with a rather thick envelope. Napoleon’s eyes widened when he saw it was cash, hundred dollar bills to be precise.

“And me sir?” Illya asked.

“You Mr. Kuryakin are to remain in the background as Mr. Solo’s and chauffeur and bodyguard. If in the event he is unable to secure the purchase of the Grand Marnier, I have no doubt someone, namely THRUSH, will try to get their hands on it. Your skills as a second story man will be needed instead.”

“What’s preventing them or us, for that matter, in trying to steal the bottles before the auction?” Napoleon asked.

“All the inventory is under very heavy security as there are several high profile paintings by Vermeer and Degas being offered from a private collection.  That will most likely be the focus for most buyers and not two innocuous bottles of cognac. The event is to be preceded by a cocktail hour at the Hotel Sacher, after which the auction will take place in the grand ballroom.  Your room is booked at the hotel as well, and please Mr. Solo no extravagances with room service?”

Napoleon gave a quick glance to his partner, hiding his smile. ”I will endeavor to do so, sir.”

“Your flight leaves this evening gentlemen. Good luck.”

.

 

The partners left in silence, heading to wardrobe to secure the clothing needed for the assignment.

“Here I go playing your servant again,” Illya remarked, dropping the chauffeur’s hat atop his blond mop. “I should just keep this and not bother returning it.

“What are you complaining about, you know you just love to lurk around in the shadows,ready to pounce on people; playing your part lets you do that. Me, I’m out in the open and at risk.”

“I do not lurk, I spy.” Illya quipped, gathering up his garment bag containing the rest of his chauffeur’s uniform and draping it over his arm.

 

 

The agents arrived the next morning at Vienna International Airport, with Illya was dressed in his charcoal grey uniform, black leather gloves, and sporting a pair of aviator sunglasses. He retrieved their luggage, while Napoleon, much to his partner’s dismay, dove head on into his role. Solo stood by, not offering to help.

Illya hefted the suitcases onto a luggage cart, following Napoleon as they headed to a nearby parking area where a Rolls Royce was waiting for them, pre-arranged by headquarters.  He loaded the bags into the trunk, too many by his estimation, and looked up at his partner, who was standing there, scowling at him.

“What?”

‘You should have opened the door first and let me be seated in the Rolls before you did that.”

“Do not start with me Napoleon,” Illya groused. He slammed the car door after his snickering partner got in the back seat. The blond slipped into the driver’s side, removing his hat and starting the car, letting the engine purr for a moment before putting it into gear.

They arrived at the hotel, marveling at it as Waverly spared no expense on this one, with them being given a two bedroom suite.  Napoleon getting the master bedroom of course, but Illya was delighted to have a bed to himself for once in the adjoining room.

After finishing a light meal delivered by room service, Illya changed from his uniform to his usual black suit and headed down to the grand ballroom to take a better look at the layout.

It was very elegant; the white walls gilt with gold showing a strong baroque influence, with large crystal chandeliers dominating the room.  At one end of the room were several a long tables covered in a bright red tablecloths.

There were five entrances in all, the main door, a doorway leading to the kitchens, and three tall French doors on the far side of the ballroom opening  to a garden terrace.  That many might be a bit problematic to watch, and he walked the room looking for the ideal vantage point. Once he found a spot that suited him, he returned to the suite, noting a heavily guarded doorway just off the main lobby.

“Halten Sie dies Schätze jetzt sicker sind wir (keeping those treasures safe now are we?)” He said to the guards, knowing there was no chance of getting past them.

 

The next day the secure room was opened under heavy guard for potential bidders to view the items being offered at auction. As Napoleon wandered among them, catalogue in hand, with Illya following a few pace behind; he marveled at the collection.

Waverly had been correct, the Vermeer and Degas were garnering more attention, but a number of other fabulous offerings stood out as well. There were a few pieces of jewelry owned by Wallis Simpson, just trifles from her collection of over 200 pieces,  paintings from lesser known artists of the19th century, porcelains from China, as well as Dresden figurines from the "crinoline groups," showing court life scenes of people dancing and playing instruments. It was quite an eclectic collection.

The agents found the bottles of Grand Marnier located in a section that included some rare bottles of wine. They weren't a in prime location for viewing as were the other pieces, and not surprisingly, they were scheduled to be up early in the auction, with the paintings going last.

The cocktail hour arrived and they headed over to the ballroom, both men looking dashing in their tuxedos. Illya adjusted his earpiece, and lifted his wrist to his mouth, speaking into a microphone attached to his wristwatch.

“Can you hear me now?”  He said loudly.

“Ow, very funny,” Napoleon cringed at the volume. The hotel lobby was busy with a fair sized crowd entering the ballroom.

Napoleon snatched a glass of champagne as a waiter with a tray passed by, and moved into the crowd, eavesdropping on snippets of conversations. Illya went immediately to his vantage point, conveniently located next to the tables now containing serving stations for hors d'oeuvres. He helped himself to a plateful and assumed his spot, munching away as he surveyed the guests.  He had complete view of every door and those entering the ballroom..

Solo overheard a conversation regarding interest in the bottles of cognac, as well as the Vermeer and Degas.  He sighed, thinking it was going to be a long night if this gentleman with a very obvious Texas twang outbid him on the Grand Marnier, as he’d be staying until the bitter end to vie for the two paintings.   Napoleon had a suspicion he’d have to go higher than Waverly wanted to beat out this particular fellow.

“Napoleon we have company, it seems your 'dog’ is here..” Illya’s voice came across in his earpiece. The Russian had spotted a familiar platinum blond accompanied by a ruggedly handsome older man, silver haired and by the fit of his tuxedo, he was in very good shape.

“Dog?”

“Dog as in 'La Chien' and she has a friend with her.” The Russian practically hissed; he had no compunction about letting his partner know he despised the woman.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” Solo whispered into his mic.

“That depends upon one’s point of view. Remember Napoleon, when you lay down with dogs, you rise up with fleas...”

Solo clicked his tongue at his partner’s judgemental tone.“Where is she?”

“Eleven o’clock, looks as though she has spotted you and is heading your way.”

A moment later Solo heard the sultry voice. “Hmm, what a coincidence meeting you here darling.” She leaned forward, giving him a little peck on the cheek. She was dressed in a black lace dress, tight fitting in all the right places, and a dark fur stole draped casually over her shoulders.

“Angelique, and what may I ask brings THRUSH here?”

“Oh a few items up for auction that my companion has taken a keen interest in purchasing.”

“And what might they be?”

“Just some trinkets, and may I ask the same of you? What brings UNCLE’s finest here? And where is that annoying partner of yours?”

“Oh he’s here abouts somewhere, keeping a keen eye out for trouble makers.” Napoleon grabbed a champagne glass from a passing waiter, offering it to her.

She took a sip from it, smiling seductively. “Napoleon dear, you’re being evasive and not answering my other question...what brings you here?”

“Oh, just interested in, as you say....some trinkets.” He smiled at her.

“Hmm, well if we’re bidding on the same items then I won’t wish you luck, perhaps, ‘may the best man...or woman win.”  She turned away from him, disappearing into the crowd.

In the meantime, Illya had approached her companion, spilling a glass of champagne on him.

“You bloody fool, watch what you are doing!” The man barked at him, with a distinctively British accent.

He quickly brushed off the Englishman's jacket with his handkerchief, apologizing profusely for his clumsiness, but in fact had just pick-pocketed the man’s wallet.  Illya pushed his way through the crowd, heading for cover behind a large potted palm, and quickly went through the contents.

Illya recognized the man’s name immediately. “Napoleon,  Angelique friend is Cedric Wilkinson, a member of Central.”

Solo’s brows arched, as members of THRUSH Central rarely showed themselves in public.

A gong sounded, signalling the end of the cocktail hour and the guests were called to the main lobby while the chairs were set up for the auction.  Those participating had previously registered and were given their numbered bidders cards as they re-entered the ballroom.

Illya stood to the side, keeping Angelique and Wilkinson in view and Napoleon sat a few seats over in the row behind them.

The auction commenced with a pair of Dresden figurines. “Figurines of eighteenth-century ladies and gentlemen, animal groups, extremely popular...” the auctioneer announced.  The bidding commenced, and they were on to the next item in no time, a Quing dynasty vase that sold very quickly.  Finally the bottles of Grand Marnier appeared on the block.

“Ladies and gentleman these rare bottles of Grand Marnier from the collection of the late Dr. Franz Loewe are being offered here today as an unusual treat. Not the legendary Cognac Napoleon Grande Fine Champagne of 1811, but still they are a fortuitous pair. These remarkable bottles from the 1830 vintage in superb condition, were given as a gift by King William IV to his personal physician, and were subsequently passed down through generations of his family until they were added to the collection of Dr. Loewe. There are accompanying letters of provençe. Now what am I bid?

The first bid was made by Wilkinson, followed by the Texan. Napoleon raised his bidding card and upped the ante just a bit.  The action became fast and furious, with the Texan finally doubling the highest bid made by Solo.  That number Napoleon couldn’t best, and neither, it seemed, could Wilkinson.

Solo glanced over to his partner and shrugged. “Looks like I will need to change my clothing again,” Illya’s voice whispered softly into Solo’s earpiece.

“You’ll have a bit of a wait, the Texan planning to bid on the paintings, and they’re last to come up on the block.

The end of the evening arrived with the American outbidding his rivals for the Degas and Vermeer.  Napoleon watched as Angelique and Wilkinson sauntered out of the ballroom, looking all too smug. No doubt they were up to something.

“Tovarisch, time to do your thing, I’ll keep an eye out on our little birdies.”

Illya left the ballroom taking his time as he knew the items bought by the American needed to be delivered to his hotel suite.  He changed into his black turtleneck and gathered up his tools, a rope with a grappling hook and a glass cutter.  The Texan’s suite was conveniently located below theirs, and when the time was right, Illya lowered himself to the balcony, and using the glass cutter, he sliced an opening for him to reach his hand through and turn the handle on the French door.

No one was in the suite at the moment, though he presumed there was a guard outside the door. The two bottles were nestled on a table in the sitting room, and he carefully picked them up and placed them each in their velvet pouches, and into a bag slung over his shoulder. He exited to the balcony, shimmying back up the rope and climbing over the railing to his and Napoleon’s suite, but he froze at the sound of a pistol being cocked.

“Why thank you Mr. Kuryakin, “Wilkinson said, “you saved me quite a bit of trouble in obtaining those bottles. Now inside,” he gestured with the gun after he removed the Russian’s Special from his shoulder holster.

An unhappy Napoleon was seated in a chair with Angelique standing beside him, holding a gun on him.

“Ah there you are, you insipid little Russian,” she droned.

Illya ignored her. “Napoleon are you all right?”

“Fine for the moment, only my pride has been hurt.”

“Hand over the bottles Mr. Kuryakin and do be gentle please? We wouldn’t want any breakage as I’d have to have Miss La Chien do some damage to your partner.” Wilkinson said.

Illya lifted the shoulder strap, removing the bag and placing it on a nearby table. He took the bottles from their velvet coverings, standing them side by side.

“Excellent!” Wilkinson chortled.  “Now fetch two glasses from the bar if you would be so kind?”

Illya did as he was told, placing the glasses next to the bottles and taking a step back.

Wilkinson picked up one of the bottles of cognac, examining it with relish before opening it and pouring two small libations, one for himself and one for Angelique.

“Come my dear, let’s toast to eternal youth. You do want to stay beautiful forever don’t you?”

“That’s every woman’s dream I suppose,” she crooned, accepting the glass from her Superior.

Wilkinson downed the cognac in one swallow, not sipping it as he was anxious for Dr. Loewe’s formula to give him back the gift of his lost youth.

The man grabbed his throat, a look of pain and fear in his eyes.  Napoleon reached out, knocking the glass from Angelique's hand as she was about to take a sip.

She, Solo and Kuraykin watched in horror as Wilkinson’s face shriveled, the man aging rapidly right before their eyes. Cedric Wilkinson’s body collapsed to the floor, now looking as though he was a hundred years old.

Napoleon knelt beside him, checking his pulse, but found none.

“Looks like it was was not as lively a vintage as anticipated,” Illya quipped

“Napoleon darling,” Angelique said, ”thank you for saving my life. You do know that if Wilkinson had ordered me to hurt you, I wouldn’t have liked doing it in the least?”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” he reached out, taking her pistol from her without any resistance at all. “I think it’s time you leave. We’ll take care of this mess here.”

“And the Grand Marnier?” Her eyes sparkled.

“Not a chance my dear.” Napoleon saw her to the door.”Tell your buddies at Central the bottles were poisoned and the contents killed Cedric Wilkinson.”

The agents picked up the body and unceremoniously tossed it off the balcony,  with it landing down on the one below. The body along with the missing cognac would make for a scandal, to say the least.

The agents left the hotel, this time Solo riding shotgun as they headed to the airport.  The Grand Marnier had been tucked into their carry on luggage and no one was the wiser as they boarded the jet plane bound for New York.

Upon arrival, they returned to headquarters with the cognac and the disappointing news that Loewe’s formula was a failure.

“Sir what exactly was UNCLE’s interest in this fountain of youth formula?” Napoleon asked.

“It was proposed it just might help those suffering from debilitating afflictions such as multiple sclerosis among others,” Waverly shook his head.

They sat together at the conference table looking rather somber, and out of the blue Alexander Waverly rose, going to his liquor cabinet and offered each of them a glass of his treasured Aquitaine, pouring libations for the three of them.

“To your health gentlemen,” Waverly raised his glass in toast.

“Cheers,” Solo and Kuryakin offered in return, but both hesitated to drink, as the image of the dying Wilkinson was still fresh in their minds.

  
“Well, what are you waiting for gentlemen? It’s not like it’s poisoned...” Waverly cocked his bushy eyebrows.

 

 


End file.
